Maximum Ride: Black Winter
by kukumalu01
Summary: Max is snatched away on the coldest winter in recorded American history. Her flock struggles to live through the storm and find her, as she endures every experiment the School gives her. R
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended.

Leave a review.

**

* * *

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**MAXIMUM RIDE; BLACK WINTER**

**Bullet Rosettes** - a type of snowflake created when multiple crystals grow together at random manners. Sort of like how a problem appears.

_Max is snatched away on the coldest winter in recorded American history. Her flock struggles to live through the storm and to save her, as she endures countless experiments by the School._

* * *

There are different kinds of coldness.

There is superficially cold when your skin is cool to touch but your body temperature remains normal at 37.0 degrees Celsius. This is when you yell at the nearest person to turn up the temperature on the heater or maybe don a sweater.

There is freezing cold. In winter wonderland, perhaps you can find rosy-cheeked people running out of the house in a thin sweater and no gloves, twirling in the snow. In winter reality world, you're covered with so many clothes you have no either what your real body shape is anymore.

It was no winter wonderland in New York City on that 24th December. Yet, six children were pressing their backs against a cold wall dressed in nothing more than thin cotton shirts, torn bloodied jeans and tattered sneakers. That is the worst kind of cold. When you are freezing so badly that you want to curl up into a ball just to reserve that last amount of body heat you have, you know you're in deep, deep –

"- shit," Max muttered under her breath.

"What happened?" Iggy asked in a forcefully calm voice. "Why is it suddenly so cold?"

Max turned to look at him, her hair whipping across her face from the icy wind. "I don't know, Ig."

Fang stepped forward, and literally stepped forward from darkness. His ability to blend in with his surroundings pleased him, and startled the rest. Nudge jumped back – she had not realized he was standing behind her – and shrieked.

He shook his head so that the flecks of snow disappeared and in a fluid motion unfolded his wings, so that snow puffed in the air like dust. Immediately, his raven black feathers flared back in the merciless wind. His wingspan was about six feet, so that when he turned around to face Max, he blocked most of the wind.

Smart thinking.

Max leaned against the wall and closed her eyes, trying to make sense of her directions. All birds have an innate sense of direction. As part avian, she usually could think of a place and know instinctively how to get there.

New York City. Which part of NYC would open the doors to six grubby, homeless kids? No way were they going back to the subway.

"Let's try going into _this_ building then," Angel suggested innocently, reading Max's mind.

All six children turned to look at the whitewashed wall at the same time.

"No, sweetie, I don't think that's a good idea," Max said firmly. "We just landed here because the wind was just too strong. We_ can't _go in. We don't know what to expect."

"Max," Nudge said, hugging herself. She had unfolded her wings as well and wrapped it around her as well as she could. Already her tawny feathers were speckled with white snow. "It's awfully cold out here."

"I'm pretty sure we've established that fact before," Iggy muttered under his breath.

"If there's anything that wanted to kill us etcetera, it would have come out already," Nudge continued, ignoring Iggy. "It can't hurt going in."

It was unlike Nudge to present her case so diplomatically. Still, Max looked hesitantly at the building, her eyes scanning every inch for a camera, a booby trap – anything that could indicate danger.

It was Gazzy who finally convinced her mind, in his usual eight-year-old innocent blunders. "Erm… Max? I think I feel _one_ coming along now."

"No way," Iggy cried, stepping back. "I haven't recovered from the last fart!"

"There's no need to be so crude," Nudge said in a prim voice. "It's the new _in_ thing to be subtle, you know."

"Thank you, Nudge," Max said, wasting a pointed look on Iggy. Almost at the same time, Nudge continued, "Say miniature-eruption-from-the-rear-end."

Fang rolled his eyes.

Still. Gazzy had not earned his name Gasman for nothing.

Max turned to the door, feeling for the doorknob. If Gazzy managed to find a room to… erupt himself, it would not be so bad. Besides, Nudge had a point. If someone wanted them killed, they would have had plenty of opportunities already. Her instincts still warned her against going into an unknown territory.

_The million dollar question; to be in an unknown territory which could be a sanctuary or become frozen solid in the winter night. _

"Eenie, meanie, miny, moe," Max muttered under her breath.

"Great. Now Max is going loony too."

Max aimed a kick at Iggy's shin.

"Angel, can you sense anybody inside?" Max asked, while ignoring the pain in her fingers. They were slowly turning faintly blue under the coldness of the snow and wind. Despite Fang's cover, which was probably causing a hell lot of discomfort, the icy wind was just like the wind during the thunderstorm in Antarctica. Wait, square that amount. They were heavily padded then.

Angel had her face scrunched up in concentration. "Not really. I feel a bit of mindless questions but that's probably rats or something."

"Okay." Max stepped back and waved her arms forward. "Guys, get out of the way."

Fang raised an eyebrow at her. The cold environment was getting to her. She sounded harsher than she had expected. Sighing, Max added exasperatedly, "_Please_."

"Need some help?" Fang asked, standing next to her. He pulled in his wings as close as possible to his back. He looked faintly relieved at the warmth to his wings, but he was the only one. Angel was already hugging Nudge for warmth. It was barely five minutes since they landed.

Max knew they could not last to wait the storm out.

"You read my mind," she replied. "On three. One, two-"

They ran to the door in full force – the dark, tall boy and the pale, slender girl gathering momentum in their limbs. At the same time, they kicked the door.

Max intended to shake away enough snow (about six inches of slate ice frozen on the wall) to see the door. It was one of her survival rules; the lower the ambition, the happier the results.

To their shock, the door splintered into half.

"Wow," Nudge and Gazzy said together, their eyes wide. Even Iggy heard the loud splintering sound above the howling wind.

"Have you been secretly working out, Fang?" Max asked, cautiously walking towards the gaping whole.

"I have to keep my abs in shape," replied Fang, poker-faced. Max gave him a look and then a quick smile. Then, she reverted back to business mode.

"Okay, I'll go in and scope the place. Give me a minute until I give the 'clear' signal. Got it?" Max called over her shoulder.

"Yeah." "Yes." "Yep." "Hurry, Max, I can't keep it in any longer."

Max still could not tell where the door started and ended, so she clambered carefully into the hole. The flimsy door indicated that they were in a warehouse of some sort. The inside proved her theory right. There were dusty wooden floorboards and the room had a musky smell of rotting wood.

She lifted her eyes from the ground and walked in a circle, taking note. There were no windows, which was strange. What building, apart from prison, had no windows? Apart from that, it was all clear. It looked as though they had to bear with Gazzy.

"Okay, all cle–"

From outside, they heard Max's voice loud, clear from years of being a leader. "All cle–"

Then, she was cut off with a brief high-pitched shriek.

Then silence.

"_MAX!_"

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A/N (4/12/09): Discontinued, until I feel like emo-ing again. (: That's when the story will really be good. I mean, you _don't_ want half-assed chapters, right? Probably during the exam season. Sorry, sorry, sorry.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended.

Leave a review.

* * *

**MAXIMUM RIDE; BLACK WINTER**

**Chapter 2; Stellar Plates** – a thin, plate-like crystal with six broad arms, shaped like a star. Its face is often decorated with amazingly elaborate markings. Sort of like an evil plan, isn't it?

_Max is snatched away on the coldest winter in recorded American history. Her flock struggles to live through the storm and to save her, as she endures countless experiments by the School._

* * *

Max fell forwards. Any doctor will tell you that a person normally raise his hands to protect his face instinctively. Max's arms were stiff and when her chin made contact with the dusty floorboards, her jaws hurt. She could taste the metallic tinge of blood in her mouth.

_Ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch_, thought Max mentally in her head. Then, _what's going on_?

"Don't move, Maximum," said an icy voice. Max wanted to look up, but she could not crane her head. She felt ridiculous staring at the floor. A pair of black shoes came into view. "Do not fight the sedative. It's futile and would hurt you."

_Whaaat_?

Max pushed aside her bird instincts to take flight – her wings were twitching but she could not move them – and her human instincts to fight back. She thought about the flock, waiting outside in the cold for her signal they would never receive.

_Angel_!

"We are covered by a force field, using advanced military technology. If Fang enters the room, he would find a bare room projected. Angel's telepathic powers would also not work here."

At this point, a person should normally be cowering in fright. As the icy tone said Fang's and Angel's names, he sounded as if he had memorized their portfolios and knew the flock's secrets by hard. It held a professional, I-know-everything tone.

Max was not a normal person, so she might as well break all the unspoken rules of a normal person anyway. _Damn it, _was all she thought.

As if on cue, Fang crept in swiftly and quietly through the hole and stood still by the door. Instantly, he faded from view, but somehow Max knew he was scanning the entire place as she had done.

She felt false hope rise in her and hated herself for it. Maybe Fang could see through the projection. Maybe Fang could be two steps ahead of her and actually walk around to see if he could touch the force field. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

"This is your last moment with him, Maximum," the man said dispassionately. "You and I, on the other hand will be seeing a lot more of each other." The shoes moved, and stepped to her right. "The School has beefed up its technology and research material. I am the top scientist at the Mutants branch."

_What the hell is he waiting for_? Max thought furiously, struggling to move. It was like trying to get your hair to move on its own by thought – absolutely impossible.

"My name is Jeffrey Childs. My expertise is on expiration dates."

Max could see Fang from a distance. He was right at the end of the room. Fang had reappeared, turning around to call the others in. It could have been the force field or the sedative, but the voices beyond the force field was muffled. Cautiously, all the other members of the flock came into the room, hyperaware and wary.

"I am able to bring forward expiration dates in our previous failed experiments using another kind of sedative."

_Hold on a sec_…

"This is your last moment with all of them, Maximum," Dr. Childs amended. "They will all die in a month."

Then, the entire room became foggy as unseen machinery began pumping the room with heavy smoke. Max could see with overwhelming horror and fright that five dark figures collapsed to the ground. Her heart jumped when she heard a distinct cry "MAX!" through the force field.

_What have you done_! Max screamed in her mind. _A month_? _What do you want _me_ for? You stupid, stupid_ –

"Come on, Maximum," Dr. Childs said coldly. "I have some questions to ask you." He knelt to the ground, took out a plastic case from his lab pocket. He opened it with a snap and took out an injection needle. Filled with clear liquid, it looked harmless. Pushing back her sleeve – her skin was cold, with goosebumps – he injected the second sedative into her arm. He pulled out the dart from the back of leg, where the paralyzing poison entered her major artery.

Immediately, her body relaxed, and she fell unconscious.

* * *

Dr. Childs got up and waved his right hand slightly. The projection disappeared on his signal. The smoke cleared up almost immediately as the machinery filtered the air. Then, the force field disappeared.

The room resembled a white, sterile environment, like a lobby for a hospital. Two transparent doors behind him opened and two technicians came out to seal up the door Fang and Max broke. Two other medical attendants came out and stood behind Dr. Childs.

"Pick up this girl and take her to Room 28A," Dr. Childs directed coolly.

"Yes sir," the blonde medic said. "The other children?" He nodded his head towards the rest of the flock. The technicians stepped around them nervously before stabbing a white plate-like thing on the door. A thin, plastic wall two metres by two metres stretched from the device, sealing up the entire door completely. The wooden door was the only authentic old object in the entire building.

"Call the body disposal team," Dr. Childs said, after a short silence. "Tell them to bring the children downtown and leave them in the Johannes cemetery."

"Johannes?" repeated the second medic uncertainly. He was clearly the newer employee of the two. "Isn't that the one with rumors of haunted spirits…?"

His voice faded off as Dr. Childs stared at him intently. "Do you have a problem, Jones?" he said, his voice several degrees colder.

"No, sir."

"Good." Dr. Childs walked briskly towards the two doors, only to turn back again. "Jones, do you see the dark boy there?"

Jones glanced back nervously at the unconscious children. "Yes, sir."

"Break his wings before the body disposal team comes."

Jones paled, but any more outbursts were a direct challenge to Dr. Child's authority. The challenge always resulted in death to the other party.

"Yes, sir."

"Good." Dr. Childs entered the main building of the New York branch of the School. He rummaged through his lab coat for his cell phone. He flipped it open and held it to his ear.

"Jeb? I have Maximum Ride."

* * *

A/N: I had major expectations for this chapter, and I hope its twists makes up for your own. Thank you to those who reviewed!

New A/N: This story is on hiatus until I get my writing muse back. Thank you for reading.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended.

Leave a review.

Warning: A heavily science-fiction chapter. Thank you to wikipedia and several biology texts.

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**MAXIMUM RIDE; BLACK WINTER**

**Chapter 3; Hollow Columns** – these crystals are small, so a good magnifier is needed to see the hollow regions. There is no magnifier for a hollow feeling in oneself.

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"Here's a little secret you might not have picked up on about me: I can't stand gushy emotion. So all this – the vulnerability, the longing, the terror – I desperately wanted it to all go away forever." – Max, excerpt from _Max the novel_ by James Patterson, pg 35

* * *

Max woke up with a start. It took her only a moment to get used to her surroundings. Like a regular militant, she ran a systems check on her body.

_Head, check_, she thought, ignoring the headache she presumed came from falling over. If the headache was there, it meant not much time had passed since she last passed out. _Body… _

She was sitting upright in a cold, hard metal chair in front of a wide white table. The floor was carpeted, illuminated by a single light hanging directly above the table. It was a typical interrogation room. Max tried to stand up and ended up tugging against the scratchy ropes binding her wrists and legs to the table.

"Don't bother, Max," Dr. Childs said. Max looked up immediately; the doctor was sitting across her, leaning back against his own cushioned chair easily. "Welcome to Room 28A."

Max stared at him incredulously. "Thanks," she replied dryly, "does it come with room service? I'm thirsty, not to mention a _bit_ uncomfortable being tied to a chair."

Unfazed, Dr. Childs looked at her with the perfect poker face stare.

_Dude, I'm not impressed. I've played poker with Fang_, Max thought. Then, her eyes widened. "Fang!" she burst out. "What the hell have you done to the flock? Where are they?"

Dr. Childs raised an eyebrow. "The flock," he repeated to himself, his voice mocking. "What a childish word for a group of sentient avian-human hybrids."

_You do _not_ get away with calling my flock childish._

"What do you want to call us? Magic Flying Things?" Max said. She narrowed her eyes and let anger creep into her voice. "You are not answering my question." Inside, she was unsuccessfully trying to reassure herself that the flock was alright. After all, it would not be the first time she was separated from them.

Then again, there was the small matter of their expiration dates and the freezing temperature outside the building.

Dr. Childs stood up, obviously having enough of the small talk. He reached into his laboratory pocket and pulled out a remote. He pressed a button, and a projector lowered down from the ceiling. A white screen was projected onto the blank wall behind him.

"That is why I'm here now. I will answer all your questions about your past," he said calmly, "so I expect your co-operation. In response to your question, the flock is still alive now, for all I know."

Max stared at him. _The flock is okay_, she thought firmly,_ I'll make sure the white-coat answers _all_ my questions._

_Just hold on for a while guys._

Dr. Childs looked at her expectantly. Co-operate, shut up and listen, or being gagged, thrown somewhere perhaps, and probably go through this all over again in a few hours. It was kind of depressing how these things became so routine.

Max sighed. "Okay. Bring out the popcorn and start talking."

* * *

A blueprint image came into view. DNA strands, with red marks pointing to specific transcriptions, filled up the remaining spaces.

"The first gene therapy on human beings was in 1990," Dr. Childs said, sitting on the edge of the table. Unlike his usual dispassionate features, he looked more like a schoolteacher lecturing his student. He pointed to the screen with the remote.

"Government-funded trials failed in altering the DNA of their patients. The School, on the other hand, was set up by a scientist in 1982. He had caught wind of the government's intentions and wanted to try his hand in it ahead of them. The School was funded using the patents on a few of his successful inventions."

"Illegally," Max added pointedly.

He ignored her. "We managed to get rapid results in the first ten years, studying the human anatomy. The School was not interested in making healthy human beings. There are plenty of those walking around. We wanted to make hybrids of animals – human beings with special features."

A detailed drawing of a human baby and a monkey came up alongside the image. "We tried a variety of hybrids. Our first experiments were mammal-human hybrids, since they are genetically the closest match we can find. They failed."

The screen flashed again to another blueprint. The monkey was replaced by a hawk and the DNA strands were altered.

"We were going through an alarming burn-rate that decade. We used only two types of genetic engineering available then; selective gene transfers to an organism, and genetic engineering using altered cells reproducing in a small container. The survival rate for an organism was slim to none. Those who did grow were unrecognizable as humans or had severe defects."

Dr. Childs clicked on the remote. A very familiar picture came up onto the screen.

"Hey look! That's a really cute photo," Max exclaimed, "I wonder who it is!"

"Experiment #29736-H," he replied, acknowledging her sarcasm with a nod, "or Maximum Ride. Our first successful hybrid is an avian-human, created in the year 1995."

"Great," Max said impatiently. She started struggling against the bonds again. "La-di-dah. I'm now an expert in genetic engineering. Okay. But _what_ does that have to do with you capturing me? And what about the flock?"

"We're going to raise the perfect generation, Maximum. Imagine a world without birth defects, without pain and suffering in a deformed child! Where everyone is beautiful, smart, strong, and can create a human race, salvaged from our own dying species." Dr. Childs smiled in triumph, not really looking at Max.

A chill ran down Max's spine.

"You're going to be our test-subject Max. You might be the first bona-fide perfect girl in the world."

_You're mad, _Max thought. "You're mad!" Max spat.

"I'm thinking for the greater good of our world, Max," Dr. Childs said, his voice abruptly cold. "You are a good test-subject. You're wiry, strong and will be able to withstand _most_ of our experiments."

"I'm not human!" It hurt Max a little to say that. "Look." She took a deep breath, already seeing the great flaw in his plan. _Why does it take a fifteen-year-old birdkid, or around there anyway, to disassemble a plan concocted by one of the world's genius? The world is pathetic! Oh my g- I'm agreeing with this lunatic. _"I'm not human. Even if those… experiments work on me, it might not work on an innocent human girl. And you can't be the only idiot who thought of this plan before! It hasn't worked then – what makes _you_ think you'll succeed?" She made sure the scorn in her voice carried through.

"I'm not talking about human girls, Max," Dr. Childs said, walking over to the laptop. He keyed in a command, and the images on the screen vanished. "Why settle for being strong? Why not be able to fly as well, like yourself? Or be able to swim underwater, like fish? Or read people's minds? Plenty of doctors, psychologists, would love the last ability."

Max gaped. She had all the above powers, except the last one. That one belonged to-

"Angel!" Max burst out. "Where is she? If you're going to subject her to-"

Dr. Childs snapped his fingers. Two burly security officers scuttled forwards, looking very out of place amidst the thin, pale whitecoats. One of them slapped duct tape crudely over Max's mouth. "Feel special, Max. We hired these two, for flight-security risk cases like yourself and… two other bird-kids."

Muffled screeches came from under the black duct tape.

"Don't take it personally. It is rule number one of any science experiment. _Always_ repeat the experiment, to reduce chances of human error."

He nodded towards the officers. "We'll start with pain reflexes, in the 'white gymnasium'."

* * *

_**Outside Room 28A, twenty minutes ago**_

Jeb Batchelder held his identity card and waited for the computer to scan its barcode. He took a deep breath, surprised that he found himself feeling anxious. It had been eight months since he had seen the flock. The last time he was with them, the School had almost successfully erased their existence. The last time he had seen them, a bruised-up Max had stood inches away from him and spat at his feet.

"Go away, Jeb," she had said coldly. "You know what? Where ever we go, you keep reappearing. We're _sick_ of it. You keep thinking you have a place in the flock." Max had stepped back and snapped out her wings, ready to do an up-and-away.

"You know what? You were voted out a long time ago."

Something in him had snapped at that moment. For years, he had hung onto every detail he had of the flock to keep him going. He had loved the flock, raising them as if he was their father. Then, he spent the next four years in intense research on the flock's abilities so that they could become pivotal figures in the world after the By-Half plan.

He had been so proud to think that if he was chosen to die in that plan, he had left a great legacy behind, consisting of six scruffy, powerful avian-human hybrids.

However, years of hard work soon began to unravel when the School appointed a new Director. Unsympathetic towards children, the Director had ordered an immediate retrieval of all loose ends, including the flock. The School had taken Angel, and Max had never forgiven him for that.

That was the beginning of their end. He spent so much time trying to convince them, convince _himself,_ that they were still on the same page. But did all the years he had spent trying to rally support for a better plan for the flock matter? No. Did his successful plan of smuggling the flock to a safe house matter? No. Did him loving Max, and the flock, matter at all?

It sounded so childish, but it pained him to think that he did not matter anymore in the one thing that mattered to him the most.

Max's voice – a cold, quiet anger seeping through every word – replayed in his mind. "Go away, Jeb."

Jeb paused, and let his right arm fall before the barcode could be scanned completely. An automated response spoke from the computerized system, "Please scan your identity card again."

"Fine, Max," he said softly to himself, "I'll never bother you again."

Then, he turned around and went back to his own lab, where another experiment, a bird-kid in fact, was dreading his return.

* * *

_**Location: Somewhere dark**_

The muscles at the back of Fang's neck and shoulders were tensing up. He fidgeted in his sleep, bothered by the uncomfortable feeling his body was sending him. If Iggy and Gazzy had pranked him by putting something on his bed, he was going to –

Damn, he was going to scream bloody murder. Fang's eyes snapped open. It was as though someone was ripping his wing apart. He winced, and looked behind his shoulder. It was too dark to see anything, but his raptor eyesight adjusted quickly. His dark wings were lying open uselessly. His feathers were ruffled up, as if someone with no avian experience had touched them. His right wing was bent at an awkward angle, with a shiny white bone visible under his raven feathers.

A low, barely audible moan escaped his lips. The pale-faced boy opposite him looked up sharply. "Fang? You awake?"

Grimacing, Fang tore his gaze away from his broken wing and look forward. Iggy was sitting with his back against the wall. His legs and hands were bound tightly with rope, and for some unknown reason, they blindfolded him. The boxes stacked on either side of him were trembling slightly, and it was then when Fang realized they were in a moving vehicle. A van, probably.

Iggy cocked his head to one side, as if listening intently. Then, he muttered, "You're awake, you buffoon. I can hear the way you move."

"How did you–" The van hit a bump, and a lightweight box toppled from the unbalanced stack beside Fang. It hit his exposed wing, and it took all his will to stop himself from yelling in pain. It was like a hot iron was pressing onto his wing mercilessly; a hot, sharp pain.

Iggy remained silent, but he could tell something was amiss. Fang's words were strained and the way he had cut off abruptly with that sharp intake of breath meant that he was hurt somewhere. There was nothing a blind, bound kid could do but to ask meaningless questions, and if Fang really was hurt, that would help a lot. Right.

After what seemed like an eternity, Fang spoke again. "Busted my wing, and it hurts like hell."

There was a pause. "Is it a clean break or a messy wound?" Iggy replied.

Fang looked over his shoulder again. "Clean."

"Then it's OK."

_OK?_ Fang thought. In relative to their history of wounds, including at least two Flock members almost dying, a gunshot wound to the wing, a suicidal attempt of cutting wrists and plenty of other broken bones, a broken wing seemed laughable.

"Yeah." Fang shifted his body and ignored his screaming wings. "I'll untie you."

"You can move? They only tied me?" Iggy considered this for a moment, as Fang pulled out a small penknife from the back of his pocket and shifted closer. "Hmm. Maybe they think I'm more dangerous than you."

Fang sighed. "Keep on dreaming." The penknife worked slowly on the thick ropes, but it did the job. Iggy untied the blindfold around his eyes, then dropped it on the floor without comment.

"Thanks." Iggy rubbed the pink marks on his wrists where the ropes dug into his skin. "Where are we, by the way?"

Just then, the van lurched to an abrupt stop. Fang hissed again, when another box tumbled from nowhere and fell on him.

"In a van," Fang replied finally.

"Where's everyone else?"

Fang turned around. In front of Iggy, Fang often allowed his guard to go down. There was a slight widening of his eyes that the other boy could not see.

"They're not here."

Iggy snorted. "Yeah, Sherlock, I know that. I mean, who else were here in the van with us? Or did they keep one of the others back in the School?"

"Shut up, Watson, you're making a lot of noise," Fang hissed, and looked around. His raptor vision spared nothing. His eyes roamed over the boxes, Iggy staring at him with his pale face contorted with confusion and frustration, and a pink ribbon.

"Nudge was here," Fang said immediately, lunging for the ribbon. "She was wearing this ribbon."

Iggy paused. "So you found a ribbon."

_No duh_. It was hard to keep his comments to himself when Iggy was around. A derisive remark was always lingering around the corner. "Yes," he managed civilly in the end.

Iggy grinned. Then, his smile faded away. Real fear gripped his voice, something which Fang rarely heard from him since they were both seven years old. "What are they doing with Gazzy? I mean, Max yeah, they always want her for some reason. And Angel has enough power to create her own section in the CIA. But Gazzy?"

He opened his mouth to continue, but all of a sudden, they heard the heavy footsteps of a well-padded man plodding outside in the harsh snow. The doors to the van opened. Cold wind whipped into the cramp interior of the vehicle.

The man was on a cellphone, muttering angrily about the bad connection. "Listen! Hey – test, test – okay, I disposed of one downtown, with all the bums and shit. There are two more here – hello? Damn this storm – yeah, I'm leaving them here. No way in Jose, am I going to that graveyard!" He snapped the phone shut and gazed inside.

Iggy had his eyes closed, his body slack amidst the boxes and crates. And Fang-

"Hey!" he exclaimed. "Where did the other one go?"

Just then, the invisible boy shook his head, revealing all six feet of him in his glory. Fang crashed a metal crate onto the man's head. The man gave a short scream of pain, before he fell backwards, the impact silenced by the snow.

"Sherlock, you idiot, he could have whereabouts on Nudge!" Iggy said indignantly. Fang grabbed onto Iggy's arm and the two boys climbed outside.

"He wouldn't know," Fang said shortly, "he just dumped her anywhere. If Nudge is awake-" _If Nudge is alive_, he thought, and Iggy seemed to read his mind because his arm jerked slightly "-she'll find shelter. We should too. Wait for the storm to pass."

"Where?"

There were dark buildings all around them, all unforgiving and unwelcoming. Fang sighed in frustration.

As if in reply, a bright voice from above yelled suddenly, "Who, for crying out loud, is making such a racket! Shut up, shut up! I can't get any peace- oh! And who the bleeding hell are you two?"

"Fang," Iggy said in dead calmness, "please tell me there is somebody in the building or something. There is _no_ way that that voice is God."

There was a figure leaning out of the window in the building above them. "You're just sodding kids! C'mon in!"

"It's a man," Fang said, before Iggy could say anything.

"So what do we do?"

"We go in."

"You sure?" Iggy's voice resonated with uncertainty.

"Well," Fang said with a small sardonic smile on his face, already walking towards the building to get away from the cold, "Sherlock _never_ was an idiot."

* * *

A young girl, with mocha brown skin, was stirring in the snow. Her dark curls were all over her pale face. There was only one word on her mind, and the word was _cold_. She moaned, her fingers digging into the white fluff for purchase, but it only made her fingers numb. She opened her eyes a slit, but already black spots were dancing in the white background. She gladly surrendered to the darkness that the sleep brought. Darkness brought comfort, and warmth.

She whimpered once, in a weak attempt at a prayer. She wanted to be back home, back in Colorado, back in the warmth, comfort and security. Hypothermia was setting in. The only word she managed, that a stranger walking past, if a stranger ever walked past in the blasted cold, was short and pitiful.

"_Max_."

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A/N: I made it extra long for the one-year hiatus :) I love reviews; you spurred me on, greatly.

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	4. Chapter 4

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**MAXIMUM RIDE; BLACK WINTER**

**Chapter 4; Stellar Dendrites** – Dendritic means "tree-like", so stellar dendrites are plate-like snow crystals that have branches and side branches. Sort of like an evil organization, isn't it?

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The clinical smell of bleach, and the sickeningly sweet air freshener hit him first. In the back of his mind, a forgotten, vague memory of leaning his small body against the cold metallic bars of a cage was conjured. In that split-second of consciousness returning, the word 'School' breathed itself into his ear.

Gazzy could not really recall many tangible memories of the School, but he _could_ remember the plenty of times the older flock birdkids jerk awake from nightmares, always in cold sweat and a faint, haunted look on their faces before they relaxed. Still groggy, the eight-year-old instinctively tried to squash insurmountable panic.

"His heartbeat is accelerating, Jeb," a female's clipped voice came.

In reflex to her voice, Gazzy struggled to move, only to discover a smooth unforgiving belt over his wrists and knees.

"He's waking up," a familiar male voice replied. "Gazzy, can you open your eyes? You may be feeling pain around your stomach soon."

More than anything, Gazzy wanted to keep his eyes shut and pretend that it was all just a nightmare. Then, the pain Jeb warned him about hit him in full force like a sledgehammer hitting a sapling.

The machines in the small, white room crammed with monitors and medical equipment around the bed flared to life.

"Calm down Gazzy!" Jeb said. "The surgery is over- you're not in danger anymore. If you continue thrashing about you're going to tear your stitches!"

The blond-haired kid opened his eyes and for a moment, Jeb got to pretend that the boy was another average child in bed, with a more than healthy interest in motor cars, toy soldiers and Transformers.

Then, he squeezed his eyes shut again and groaned softly in pain, his arms struggling more than ever against the belts.

"Jeb, he isn't supposed to be in this much pain," the nurse noted, her voice slightly higher.

"He just went through corrective surgery on his gastrointestinal tract," Jeb snapped, ignoring the fact she was right. "He's bound to feel pain."

Suddenly, a small red light was automatically switched on one of the monitors. A loud wailing echoed in the room. Gazzy's facial features relaxed and his arms slackened.

Jeb widened his eyes, just as the nurse abandoned her cool exterior. She jammed a button next to the bed, and three other whitecoats ran into the room.

"He could be having internal bleeding," one of them guessed, as they swiftly unclamped the bolts connecting the bed from the floor. "He needs to go back to the surgery room."

"There isn't supposed to be the risk of internal bleeding, the procedure specifically-" Jeb said hurriedly, as the bed was wheeled to the corridor swiftly. The corridor was long and narrow, like a typical hospital, with sad whitewashed walls and ceiling-to-floor glass windows reflecting into the different rooms.

Inside one of the rooms, a blonde-haired girl jumped up from her seat as she recognized her brother being rushed past, almost hidden by the herd of whitecoats around him. She pressed her palms onto the window, frustrated by her limited view. All she could see was the swish of a white coat before they turned the corner.

"Where are they taking him?" Angel asked, not looking away.

The nurse taking care of her was standing beside her; she then crouched down patronizingly. "Don't you worry about him," she cooed, her voice dripping with insincerity. She nudged Angel's thin arm with a giant lollipop. "He's a nobody now. You just take care of yourself."

Angel's chin dipped as she looked at the lollipop, the whitecoat's ultimate bribe for unwavering obedience and complete dismissal of her brother's existence.

She took the lollipop, and smiled sweetly at the nurse.

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Just two floors above, Maximum Ride had just unclenched her teeth and was shooting daggers at Dr. Childs. She wiped away sweat on the side of her face with the back of her hand.

"Anymore mazes you'll like to try?" Dr. Childs inquired mildly, speaking into the intercom. He was in a small room overseeing the gymnasium.

"Oh, sure!" Max growled. She was dragging her right foot behind her, a trail of blood staining the white tiled floors. "Will there be another rabbit trap that might clamp itself on my leg that you _forgot_ to tell me about?"

"Pain reflexes," Dr. Childs replied, sounding supremely uninterested at the outrage in her voice. "Two seconds; you were surprisingly quick to respond to the sudden pain. Tell me, was it really necessary to twist the metal and try to chuck it at the nearest camera in the maze? You just wasted about a few hundred dollars worth of equipment."

"Fantastic," Max spat. She blew away the strands of brown hair falling into her eyes and glared at him. "I've ran enough to circle Texas twice, are you going to tell me where my flock is?"

Dr. Childs responded by turning his back against her, as Jeb Batchelder walked into the room. He was the model of composure, but his agitation was evident by the way he kept fidgeting with his identity card.

"You were supposed to see her two hours ago," Dr. Childs said, without greeting.

"I was tied up by the boy's surgery," Jeb said, by way of explanation. "He's in surgery again. Jeff; was it really necessary?"

"We had to get rid of any imperfections," Dr. Childs answered shamelessly. "He'll be fine for testing tomorrow." He looked down at his clipboard, where he was monitoring Max's progress. "Max has made remarkable improvements as compared to the last records. Her speed on the ground is faster, and her reaction time to pain is quick."

"She's learning," Jeb said shortly.

Dr. Childs raised his eyebrows, but made no further comment. "It'll be interesting to see how emotionally developed she is. A fifteen-year-old experiment with an attachment to other experiments; we could let her watch… Gazzy's test and I can monitor her brain activity."

"You are the head of our branch," Jeb said neutrally, "I have no authority to stop you."

"Although I am primarily interested in Max, I did give you authority to oversee Gazzy's progression over the one-month period before his expiration date, Jeb," Dr. Childs said, with a tone of warning in his voice. "I understand you have a history between the experiments and yourself, but if you will not be objective about it you may cause your own subject grievous harm."

Dr. Childs turned back to the window, and merely watched as Max alternated between cursing him and yelling at the medic who was trying to clean up the wound. "That may be a pity, as I recall Gazzy is what- eight years old?"

Jeb flinched at the insult to his capabilities but did not retort. "Is there any other reason for me to be present then?" he said.

"Not especially," Dr. Childs said lightly. "Report back to Room 28A in the evening, Jeb, we need to talk to that little girl. We want her on our side."

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Birdkids were designed to survive. So when the cold thunderstorm dropped another degree, to the disbelief of meteorologists in New York, Nudge woke up. The eleven-year-old was powdered by fine snow, and the patches of her own skin were now several shades paler. Instinctively, she flexed her fingers. When she realized she could not feel them, her eyes snapped opened.

_Frostbite! My fingers may fall off… Ew, no, no, no_, Nudge thought in horror. With a groan, she tucked her elbows in and pushed herself up.

It was as if the wind was the only thing alive in the white wasteland. The concrete buildings around her were blanketed with snow. Any further and she could only see shadows.

Nudge ran a body check on herself, shaking her hands out in front of her in an effort to feel them. The cold wind was like knife to her skin, so she dared not open her wings. She imagined her wings getting snapped in a rush of hurricane-like wind, and shuddered.

Then, the sheer loneliness of the place hit her. There was _no one_ in sight. "Hello?" she called out tentatively, but her words was swallowed by the wind. She tried again. "MAX! FANG! IGGY! HELP!"

There was still no response. Nudge tried as she might to put a positive spin on her situation – "Iggy would be able to see me in this white" – but failed. There was a quaver in her voice when she tried one last time.

"… _Please_, help me."

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A/N: So... Is anybody still reading this?


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